


Lust, Love, Lemonade

by Amanamarthiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Lack of Communication, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanamarthiel/pseuds/Amanamarthiel
Summary: A year of casual sex with Draco Malfoy comes to an end when Harry admits his true feelings.





	Lust, Love, Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Poor decision making, problematic relationships, imperfect resolutions.

The knock on the front door doesn’t come as a surprise; I stayed up, waiting—hoping—to hear it. The sound simultaneously warms and wounds my heart.

I open the door and there he is.

He’s drunk again. This is hardly the first time he’s shown up at my door in such a state, an unapologetic presence, features tinged with bright-eyed arousal. And, no matter what he’ll insist tomorrow during the tense and sobered aftermath, it won’t be the last.

Did he come because I’m simply the only option he has available to him, or because I’m a familiar comfort? Is it because he knows I’ll never turn him down and that, when it comes to me, he doesn’t really need to _try_?

_Stop it._

Draco attempts a smirk as our eyes meet. He’s drunk too much to properly succeed: he doesn’t even broach upon his usual level of condescension. I raise my eyebrows and he cocks his head to the side in an almost sheepish manner—like we’re mutual conspirators, in on the same joke.

And this, what we’re doing—it _is_ a joke, really.

Like the fool that I am, I step back and open the door wide, granting him entrance the way I’ve done so many times before. Draco ambles inside without pause.

We no longer greet each other—conventionally or otherwise—when it comes to situations like these. In the early days, we’d exchange some blustered bravado, trade muttered excuses and barbs. The words faded to these silent gestures long ago.

He’s a bit more talkative tonight, though his words are few. “Needed… I needed…” he slurs, sinking his teeth into his plump lower lip as he sways in the entry.

“You’re drunk,” I point out as I duck around him to close the door.

He hums his agreement before awkwardly shouldering off his cloak and moving to hang it on one of the unoccupied coat hooks. Though I watch these efforts with weary bemusement, my cock is starting to harden in anticipation. It knows this pattern—this dance—as well as I know how to cast _Lumos_.

Draco’s attire is impeccable as always, even after a night out. It shows off his broad shoulders, his slim hips and the tantalising curve of his arse. I can see the rigid outline of his cock pressing against his trousers; I suspect he’s not wearing any pants tonight. As my eyes drift to his knees and find them stain-free, I simultaneously rejoice and disparage myself for being so pathetic. It’s not my business who Draco chooses to blow in the bathrooms, after all.

“Are the others still out?” I ask, making a weak attempt at small talk.

“Went home,” Draco says as he loosens his tie. “Pansy was pretty desperate to fuck Theo,” he adds conversationally, allowing the plum strip of silk to trail from his fingers and flutter to the floor.

I frown lightly as Draco starts to back me towards the lounge room. “But Theo’s with Neville.” And they’re engaged, for Merlin’s sake!

His eyes roll in amusement. “Still tried her hardest. Didn’t get anywhere, of course. She went home with some off-duty hit wizard—at least that’s what he _said_ he was. _I _didn’t recognise him.”

By this point, Draco has pushed me onto the couch. I already know what’s coming next, even before he moves back. He loves sucking me off, but only when he’s been drinking, for some reason. He loves sucking _people _off, I should say, because it’s not like he finds something special about me and my dick.

_Oh, get _over _it!_

I realise that I’ve already started sliding my joggers and pants down my legs, my hands moving unconsciously. I remove them quickly and throw them into a corner, my t-shirt joining them a few seconds later. Propping myself against the cushions, I watch as Draco undoes the placket of his trousers and presses a hand against himself. As he moves his palm away from his groin I can see that I was indeed right—he isn’t wearing any pants tonight.

For a moment I am able to convince myself that he’s forsaken them just for me.

“Much better,” he tells me in a confiding murmur as he draws out his flushed and straining cock, squeezing it lightly in his fist.

I am wordless as Draco drops to his knees before me and shuffles forward, taking his hand off his cock so he can spread my knees wide apart. He inches closer, one hand trailing up my thigh. He’s not hurried; his touch feels almost reverent. As he leans in to swipe his tongue across the crown of my dick I notice that his right hand has dropped away once again and that he is gripping hold of his own cock. As his lips wrap around my length he begins to wank himself, timing these movements with the bobs of his head. I wind my fingers through his white-blonde hair and watch his hand work with lidded eyes. Although we’ve been fooling around like this for the best part of a year, I’m still utterly mesmerised by the sight of him pleasuring himself. It’s an image that commits itself to my mindscape on lonely nights and during solitary showers.

Draco's talented tongue teases me to the brink but he withdraws before I come, lips curved in a smirk at me as he rocks back on his heels. Although it tortures me to do so, I grip the base of my cock to ground myself, because I know that waiting is worth the reward. My other hand strokes idly over my chest as I watch Draco stand up so he can shimmy out of his sinfully tight trousers and peel off his shirt. He hasn't come yet either and his cock is full and flushed and leaking slightly at the tip; my tongue aches to swipe away the pearl of pre-come which has gathered there. I know him well enough, however—I've done this enough times before—to remain seated. I lean back against the couch as he approaches and climbs onto my lap, hissing as he brings our flushed cocks into contact. As he takes a hold of them in his fist I contribute to the cause with a wandless lubrication charm, rendering us both blissfully slippery. I allow my hands to wander freely, stroking up his hips and over his arse cheeks. His skin is indelibly silken smooth. He is beautiful.

Draco shudders, eyes squeezed closed. “I missed this,” he reveals, fucking us in his fist a few more times before letting go.

He rises to a kneel above me, swaying slightly as he seeks out his entrance with long, clever fingers. He begins preparing himself needily, greedily. My eyes are fixed on his face; I take in every moan, every change in expression, my hand slowly stroking my cock all the while. When Draco opens his eyes and notices me staring he smiles wickedly; it’s as if he understands just how enthralling he is, knows just how enraptured I am. I can’t help smiling back even though it’ll saturate my features with the sort of goofy adoration I’ve been making desperate efforts to hide.

“Hurry up,” I urge him, squeezing my hands against his cheeks in my impatience. Draco winks and adds another finger.

I cup my hands over his buttocks, fingers pressing against his wrist as I seek permission. “Let me? I want—”

“_Yes_,” Draco hisses, sliding out his own fingers and pressing mine into place with a moan. "Like that. Yes. More."

I focus my efforts on stretching and curling and hitting that place which makes Draco's orders subside into nonsensical babbles. When I am three fingers deep and Draco is loosened and ready, he pulls my hand away, taking control once more. He positions himself above me, gripping the base of my freshly slicked cock to keep it steady. His eyes flutter closed as he sinks down onto me with maddening slowness, completely swathing me in his delicious heat. My fingers tighten possessively over his slim hips as he rocks himself forward, drawing moans from the both of us. He is a glorious sight above me, teeth biting into his lower lip as he moves.

"Feels so good," I gasp. Though I want to say more, I keep my adoration to myself. 

"So—fucking—good," he agrees, reaching forward to pinch and twist at my nipples.

He pants against my neck and the warm wetness of his breath sends a wave of shivers down my spine. Although he’s been drinking, I can still smell his toothpaste. His breath is always fresh, _always_; it’s yet another facet of his unerring meticulousness.

Draco Malfoy strives to exude infallibility in all aspects of his life—in his appearance, in his mannerisms, in his career. But it’s moments like these where I relish the fact that I get to see this hidden side to him. I get to see him when he trembles and writhes, when he shudders and screams through his orgasms.

He is drunk on lust and liquor and _I hate it_, but at the same time, I love seeing him when he's not weighed down by pretensions.

I'm in love with him.

“Fuck, Ha-Harry. Oh—oh, _fuck_!”

Draco comes first, splattering my chest and stomach as his cries decrescendo. I flip him onto his back, thrusting into him with vigour. Draco grips his softening cock with one hand and supports his raised leg with the other, a beatific smile on his features as he encourages me to keep going. I throw myself forward and sink my teeth into his neck, letting out a yell of ecstasy as I find my own release.

I stay inside Draco for as long as I can, delighting in the smell of sex, the feel of him beneath me, and the diminishing sound of our collective gasps. When Draco places his palms against my shoulders to push me away, it all feels over too soon. I withdraw, casting a cleansing charm over the both of us. He smiles gratefully as the spell drifts over him, his eyes only slightly unfocused.

There used to be a fresh outbreak of excuse-making after our fucking, but nowadays Draco and I both traipse up the stairs in unspoken agreement. Draco leads the way; I notice there's a slight sway to his steps but he makes it to the top without issue before continuing to my darkened bedroom. On the nights that he’s sober he insists upon rinsing himself off in the shower, but tonight we both crawl into my bed. Our bodies don't touch save for his leg, which he always hooks around mine. I don't really understand why he does it—I've never asked.

When I am confident that Draco has fallen asleep I roll on my side to regard his moonlit visage. He looks peaceful and content, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He’s so fucking beautiful like this. As I spend a few minutes merely watching him, it begins to feel as if a Dementor has drifted into the room; in my loneliness I am sapped of all remnants of joy. I trail a finger across his lips just the once and try not to choke on my tears.

It was somewhat simpler in the earlier days, back when Draco would stride into my house all businesslike, making proclamations about ‘mutual benefits’ and ‘stress relief’. He was Malfoy—just Malfoy—back then. For a while I’d been able to accept—and believe—the bullshit he spouted. For a while, I had been able to simply enjoy our arrangement for what it was.

Honestly, I should have listened to my gut; I’d always sworn I could never do casual. Draco managed to persuade me to give it a try, back when I’d decided to take a hiatus from pursuing relationships that never lasted. It started out as a decent distraction, just a way for the both of us to scratch an itch. It was simple. It was fun. It was fine.

I ruined it for myself when I grew attached to the bastard.

And now, now I think I feel even worse than I did when I wasn't having sex with anybody. The situation with Draco has become agonising because, for the past few months, it has felt as if I'm fucking two different people who share the one body. Sometimes I have no idea which Draco is going to be on the other side of my door—whether it will be the aloof, sober one, or the passionate and inebriated one.

The contrast between these two versions is enormous. I wish—Merlin, do I wish—that I could say I prefer being with him when he isn’t inebriated. It’s not that the sex isn’t good—because it is—it’s the fact that he’s so much more self-aware when he’s sober. His touches are perfunctory in comparison; his words are limited and impersonal. I've begun to notice that he refuses to meet my eyes, even when we’re fucking face-to-face.

But at the same time it hurts—it fucking _hurts_—that it has become normal for Draco to get himself drunk before we fuck, as if he needs to saturate himself with alcohol before he can bear to be near me.

What does it say about me, the fact that I continue to allow him into my life—to _use_ me like this—time and time again?

Why do I keep letting it happen when I know that I'll never have Draco the way that I wish I could?

Why do I have to _love_ him so damn much?

“Harry.”

I take a breath of sharp surprise and know I've been caught. He hasn’t moved but he’s awake, watching me with one silver eye.

He frowns in drowsy puzzlement and sits up, leaning over to trace one of the wayward tears on my cheek. He looks concerned and I think being kind is the worst possible thing he could do in this moment. “Why are you—”

It hurts so much that I decide to throw caution to the wind.

_Fuck it._

I close my eyes so I can pretend we’re entirely obscured by darkness as I’m baring my soul.“I _love _you, Draco” I tell him in a fierce whisper, speaking rapidly so I can push out the words before I'm completely overcome. “You _know_ I do, so why won’t you let—you won’t let…” My words subside into sobs and it is a truly awful sound.

Draco is silent for far too long; he must be utterly mortified by my behaviour.

Finally, he addresses me. “_Harry_.” I can hear the pity suffusing his tone and it’s torturous.

“Uh-huh?” My voice is pathetic and childish, tear-sodden and defeated.

As he lets out a weighted sigh I can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re being a bit ridiculous.”

I’m too taken aback to tell him he’s an arsehole. “Y-yes.” I agree—and I do; I really, _really_ do. It’s just a shame I can’t stop crying.

“And you’re tired.” Draco curls a hand around my shoulder and guides us both down towards the mattress.

“Probably,” I admit dully, hating myself all the more as I press my face against his chest.

“That’s why you’re so upset,” he says softly. “You do know that, right? You’re very tired.”

_Maybe a little, but that’s _not_ the reason._ “Yes.”

He’s stroking my back and it feels so _nice_ apart from the fact that I know it’s pretend. I can’t believe that he is so willing to indulge me tonight; it must be the booze.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” he whispers and, somehow, I do.

I know that things have changed the moment I wake up. The distance between us is palpable, the atmosphere different to the other mornings we’ve shared. It feels heavier today, weighed down by my horrendous confession. Draco is staring up at the ceiling, hands cradled behind his head. He looks deep in thought. I don’t get to watch him for long before he notices I’m awake, his slate-coloured eyes sliding towards me.

As we stare at each other the silence grows uncomfortable; one of us needs to speak but it seems as if we’re both lost for words.

“I’m not tired,” I blurt out finally, cringing internally at my stupid self.

“Good to know,” he responds, his tone disappointingly aloof.

I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment, though try my best to ignore it. “Need a hangover potion?” I ask, affecting a casual tone.

He shakes his head and sits up, swinging himself smoothly out of my bed. “I better get going.”

I’m actually surprised he deigned to stay after my breakdown—I'd well and truly crossed our established boundaries, after all. But, then again, it’s not as if I actually understand Draco Malfoy, is it?

“Yeah.” I stopped offering him breakfast ages ago; he’s never once said yes, not even to a cup of tea.

He dresses with silent efficiency whilst I remain in the bed, heavy-limbed and ashamed. I wish the nest of blankets could properly camouflage me or—even better—that it would swallow me alive.

I wish I knew some way to convince him to stay.

Draco pauses in the bedroom doorway on his way out, one hand braced against the wall. He turns to regard me with expressionless eyes.

“I won’t be back,” he says, then takes his leave.

For the first time since he started telling me as much, I believe him.

It’s not easy to let go.

For the first time ever, it’s me who’s paying drunken visitations. Unashamedly dauntless, I sway on his doorstep with the half-empty bottle of red I’ve brought with me to prolong my courage. I knock hard enough to bruise my fists, not that I give a damn.

Draco is wearing pyjamas and—most endearingly—reading glasses when he opens the door. He looks utterly baffled to see me. “What are you—”

“Tell me why I’m not good enough for you!” I interrupt, gripping the neck of my wine bottle tighter.

His eyes widen, darting down to the bottle then back to me.

“Cause I’m a half-blood?” I persist. “Cause I’m a bloke? Which one is it? Both?”

He looks panicked; he’s probably worried what the neighbours will think. Arsehole. “You’re drunk, Potter—go home and get some rest.”

“Fucking—_no,_ Draco.” I barge past him and into his house. It’s the first time I’ve been here, of course—he’s never deigned to let me sully his dwelling with my lowly presence. “You’re going to _talk_ for once, ‘kay?”

Draco stands by the open door, pale-faced and wringing his hands. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough!” I proclaim, taking a swig of wine as I turn to regard his home. “Nice place, by the way; not as wanky as I expected. Who do you blow on this couch, hmm?” I wave a hand in the direction of a plush looking sofa.

Draco’s face reddens, his concern becoming replaced by ire. I like that. Anger is better than apathy.

“Not me of course,” I continue bitterly, “wouldn’t want me filthying the place up, after all!”

“I can’t talk to you like this,” Draco mutters.

“You can’t talk to me full-stop!” I retort. “Can’t—can’t even look at me.”

“I _am_ looking at you, Potter,” he says wearily, one hand pressed to his forehead.

“I don’t mean _now_! I mean when—when—” I shake my head and press on. “You still haven’t told me why I’m not good enough for you!”

I grow tired of the way he keeps staring at me and sit down on the floor; I don’t want to be on his fancy-pants couch, anyway. I raise the bottle of wine to my lips and guzzle it until it’s gone before I lie back and close my eyes to slow down the spinning.

The couch creaks as Draco sits down. “You’re—you shouldn’t have been drinking alone.”

“You’re one to talk,” I retort. “Stop pretending you care about me.”

“I do care about you.” He says the words quietly; I don’t think he wanted me to hear them. I really wish I hadn’t.

“You’re a fucking dickhead, Malfoy. Why do I have to love you? I don’t _want_ to love you but you keep…keep making me. _It’s not fair_.” I’m crying again and he’s saying something in response, but I can’t hear the words over the sound of my own sorrow.

I am woken by a knock. Confused, I open my eyes, squinting against the unforgiving sunlight inundating the room. Although my surroundings are familiar it still takes a minute to work out that I’m in Neville and Theo’s guest bedroom.

The knock comes again, a harsh reminder of my continuing existence.

“I’m awake,” I call out thickly.

Theo comes in with a shy smile and a floating tray of food. He’s brought a hangover potion in, too, bless him.

I sit up gingerly, wincing at the pounding in my head. “Hello.”

“Hi, Harry.” He eyes me consolingly and hands me the hangover potion. “I expect you’ll need this.”

“God, yes.” I drain the vial, grimacing at the taste, then look up at him. “Sorry, I’m not exactly sure why I’m here.”

Theo looks awkward as he sets the breakfast tray on the side-table. “Neville and I picked you up from Draco’s.”

“Draco’s?” I repeat, before the memory comes back to me. “Oh—oh _fuck_. I went to Draco’s place last night.”

“Yeah.” Theo settles himself in a chair and passes me one of the mugs of tea from the breakfast tray before taking the other.

“I can’t remember any of it,” I groan. “Fuck, I really shouldn’t have had that much to drink. Do you know what I—”

“He didn’t tell us anything, just said you’d had a row.”

I’m not sure if I’m insulted or relieved by Draco’s discretion. It’s a bit difficult when the details are a blur.

Theo sips patiently at his tea, allowing me to retreat into my thoughts. He looks mildly unsure of himself—we haven’t really had the opportunity to get to know each other well—but I am thankful for his quiet presence.

After keeping my situation to myself for so long I am overcome with the urge to confide in another person.

I exhale deeply and stare into the depths of my tea. “I’m in love with him.”

“Yes.” My head jerks up in shock; Theo doesn’t even sound surprised.

“Did he—he told you?”

Theo shakes his head. “You’re both smitten for each other, Harry; it’s pretty obvious.”

“Well you’re wrong there,” I inform him dully. “It’s pretty fucking one-sided, actually. Draco called off our—whatever it was we were doing.”

“Dating?” he suggests.

“Not even,” I scoff. “He could hardly bear being near me _sober_.”

Theo’s brows furrow. “I’m sure that’s not the case, Harry.”

He’s too bloody nice. No wonder he and Nev are so perfect together.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m done with him, anyway.”

Theo pauses then reaches into the pocket of his robes. “He wanted me to give you this when you were feeling better—I guess you might as well have it now, though.” He passes me the letter. “Maybe—”

“I’m done,” I repeat, tossing the letter onto the side-table without a glance.

Theo purses his lips but doesn’t argue.

I don’t read the letter but I don’t throw it away, either. Instead, it sits on my coffee table and is eventually buried by other bits and bobs. Luna unearths it one afternoon when she is making space for the afternoon tea she’s brought around. I’ve been avoiding group outings for the most part, spending the majority of my time either at home or at Ron and Hermione’s, since I know neither of them are likely to invite Draco round. It has been two months since my last dreaded encounter with him, the one which I can only half remember. He hasn’t tried to contact me; in fact, I’ve barely heard a word about him.

“You’ve got a letter here, Harry,” she says, turning the envelope over in her hands.

“I know.” I take a biscuit from the plate she brought over and dip it into my coffee.

“You don’t want to read it?”

“No.”

“But what if it’s important?”

I shake my head. “I know who it’s from, Luna. It’s not important. Go ahead and read it if you like; I was just going to throw it away.”

_Liar_.

She thumbs open the envelope and removes the parchment with careful fingers. I steal a glimpse and notice that the letter is longer than I anticipated. I’m curious, but not curious enough to ask her to read it aloud.

She reads the entirety of the letter before fixing me with her wide, solemn eyes. “I think you should read this.”

I roll my eyes. “Luna, honestly, I don’t see the point. Draco rejected me two months ago and I’ve moved on.”

“Draco probably thinks you’ve rejected _him_.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She waves the letter at me. “You'll need to read it to understand, Harry.”

With a sigh, I pluck the letter from her fingers. 

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I honestly have no idea if you’ll ever read this; I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I know you deserve an explanation and an apology, no matter how pathetic it is. I couldn’t give you that tonight, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t give it to you before, either._
> 
> _So much for being good with words, huh?_
> 
> _When you told me you weren’t interested in being casual, I really should have listened and respected your preferences. I didn’t because I’m selfish, I guess. I wanted you, Harry. I was ridiculously attracted to you but you were always dating other people. I was sick of seeing you go through break up after break up, more and more depressed each time._
> 
> _I wanted... well, I don’t know what I wanted now, not really. In the beginning I just wanted to fuck and have fun. And then, after a while, I wanted to do that exclusively with you. But at the same time, I didn’t want another relationship. All of my ones in the past had been so stifling, so tied to prestige and marriage and endless expectations. I didn’t want to have to merge my two worlds—the one with you and the outside one, that is. I know it sounds childish, but I didn’t want to share. I didn’t want peoples’ input or judgment._
> 
> _What’s more, I didn’t want you to get to know me. You wouldn’t have stayed with me, had we spent time together as a couple (outside of the bedroom). Perhaps you’ll argue with that because you’re a stubborn Gryffindor. Perhaps you would have stayed and resented me._
> 
> _All I know is that you would have been miserable._
> 
> _Maybe I never commented on it, but I’m not blind, Harry. I noticed your feelings changing because mine had changed too. And it became so difficult watching you try to hide your emotions and suppressing my own all the while. I should have put an end to things then, but as I said, I’d fallen for you too._
> 
> _It was easier to get drunk, because then at least I had an excuse for being a clingy twat. I could blame the alcohol instead of admitting I have a weak resolve. I could silence the voices in my head telling me that I was doing the wrong thing by seeing you, that I was fucking you up with all my messing about. I could let myself be a different_ _Draco_.
> 
> _I know I’m pathetic, Harry, I really do. I realise that I am fucked up beyond all measure and that my approach to relationships is problematic and harmful. I know that, and I am trying my best to get the help I need. I decided to stop drinking after that night, and I’m determined to keep things that way. I’m seeing my mind healer again._
> 
> _I quit my job too. I’m going to get my Potions Mastery after all._
> 
> _I don’t expect you to care; I just wanted you to know._
> 
> _A part of getting better means making tough decisions… like saying goodbye to you. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to, but I knew that I was, and that’s why I realised it was time to step away. It took longer than it should have because I didn’t want to give you up._
> 
> _I love you. I was too cowardly to say it aloud, but it’s true._
> 
> _Please know that none of what happened is your fault. I hate the fact that the way I have treated you might have caused you to devalue yourself as a person._
> 
> _I wish you well._
> 
> _Draco_

I stand up, my stomach a spiral of surprise and nerves and sympathy.

He _loves_ me? The idea is bewildering—it's nonsensical.

“I need to go,” I announce apologetically.

Luna reaches for a biscuit, utterly unfazed. “Excellent. What are you going to say?”

I frown. “I don’t really know.”

She hums. “Better make sure you mean it, whatever it is.”

Draco looks apprehensive when he opens the door and sees me standing there.

“I’m not drunk this time,” I announce stupidly.

He blinks at me. “Alright?”

I indicate the letter, still clenched in one hand. “I came because I read this—just now, actually.”

He regards the parchment with a surprised expression before glancing up at me. The smile he gives me is tentative. “I should have known.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “Kind of wish I’d done it earlier, actually. Can I come in? To talk?” I add.

Draco pauses, teeth sinking softly into his lower lip. “Could we go somewhere instead, actually? Have coffee, perhaps?”

I stare at him. We’ve never done that—or anything in public—before.

“If you don’t mind, I mean,” he adds, looking somewhat unnerved by my lack of response.

“Oh, yeah—that’s fine,” I assure him, slightly flustered. “I know a good place.”

"Alright."

I side-along Draco to an alleyway before leading him to a Muggle café I've frequented a few times over the years. He seems to appreciate my choice, judging by his relieved expression as we get to the door. Honestly, I don't know what he expected—neither of us are particularly interested in being gawked at, and especially not during our impending conversation.

Draco volunteers to order our coffee, leaving me to choose a table. I pick a spot by the window and try to be subtle as I watch him interact with the girl at the counter. He’s polite and friendly as he pays for our drinks, and I find myself wondering whether he is being genuine or if he's being nicer than he would if he were on his own. He avoids my eyes as he makes his way across the café floor, his eyes roving the eclectic assortment of paintings on the walls.

I know I’m not the most observant person, but even I can see he’s nervous when he sits down opposite me.

“I didn't expect you'd want to speak to me again," he admits after a minute or so of awkward silence.

"I didn't expect you to write what you wrote," I answer, sounding bolder than I truly feel. "I wanted to respond."

"I guess you're not one for doing that in writing."

I can't tell if he's insulting me. "Would you have written me back?" I challenge him, one eyebrow raised.

Draco frowns, lips twisting. "I don't know." He pauses, then asks, "what made you decide to read it after all this time?”

“Luna convinced me to take a look—she read it first.”

“Oh.” Although Draco looks quite discomfited, I bite back the urge to apologise for the invasion of privacy.

“How are you?” I ask.

When Draco peers at me hesitantly, I get the impression that he’s going to brush off my question. To my surprise, he swallows then says, “Better, I think. I’m still—I’m not drinking... at all. That and seeing my mind healer each week… it’s been helping a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m not particularly good at talking about myself.” He admits, rolling his eyes good naturedly. “I know that probably sounds strange, coming from a Malfoy. How… how are you?”

“Thinking I should probably get in contact with my mind healer as well,” I say wryly, which earns a small smile from Draco. "But... I'm alright."

When Draco remains quiet, I sigh and continue. “It wasn’t all your fault, you know.”

Draco opens his mouth to argue, but I don’t let him.

“I’m sure your mind healer has told you that—if you’ve spoken about us, that is.”

I don't want to presume. From the look on Draco’s face, though, he has.

“We both—we both fucked up, that’s what I think,” I continue. “We wanted different things—we both knew it. It wasn't a good idea from the start."

"I shouldn't have-"

"It wasn’t like I was _forced _into anything, Draco," I interrupt. "Surely you know that?”

Draco shrugs. “I almost wish… I almost wish you’d turned me away,” he confesses quietly, staring down at the table, “but you always let me in.”

Our coffees arrive before I can respond. We remain silent as the mugs are set before us, avoiding eye contact.

“I wasn’t able to say no,” I acknowledge, “regardless of which Draco was waiting at my door." My calmness starts to dissipate. "Do you know how _awful _it feels, never knowing exactly what you’re going to get? The first version is cold and emotionless; the second is the opposite—but only because he’s completely sloshed! I just…” I sigh. “I don’t understand how you can claim to feel—_that way _about me—when in person, you acted as if I repulsed you.”

Draco is hunched down in his seat; it's strange to see him looking so pale and small. He’s still avoiding my gaze, his face twisted with shame.

“I know,” he whispers, his fingers clutching the edge of the table tightly. “I know and I am _sorry_, Harry.”

“You called me Harry in your letter,” I remark softly. “Did you know that this is the first time you’ve called me by my first name in person? Whilst sober, I mean.”

As Draco winces, I realise that reprimanding him doesn't make me feel any better. I find this cowed version of him unsettling; I don't know how to respond to him at all.

I sigh again. “I’m not trying to be—”

“You’re not,” Draco interrupts, voice unsteady in a way that I've never witnessed before. “You’re right. I couldn’t handle the way I felt about you. I wasn’t ready to admit it, least of all to myself. I chose a _terrible_ way to deal with my issues, and I wish I could change that.”

“Will you tell me something? Give me an honest answer?”

Draco eyes me warily. “What do you want to know?”

“I know you just wanted casual sex from me, at least in the beginning. What exactly did you want in the end?”

Draco’s eyes return to the table. I watch him closely, wondering whether he is fabricating a response or trying to avoid answering. “I… wanted to be a part of your life. I wanted to be able to love you properly. I didn’t know how, and I was too… a _coward_, that’s what I was.”

“And now?”

He blinks up at me, his silver eyes wide and lined with tears.

It’s hard to see him looking that way. I can read the desperation in his expression—I can see what he wants, what he's too afraid to say. I tear my eyes away, the urge to run rising. I force myself to finish my coffee first, trying desperately to ignore the sensation of Draco's eyes on me.

When my cup is drained I stand up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor in my hurry.

"Thanks for the coffee," I say, because I'm incapable of putting anything else into words.

Draco lets out a shuddering breath, his head jerking in a nod.

I rush out the door before he can say anything—though perhaps he wasn't planning on saying anything at all.

After our encounter I start going to pub nights again. I'm still not particularly interested in socialising, but at least the idea of running into Draco isn't as nerve-racking as it was. I'm more concerned about having to deal with people trying to nose into my dating life—or lack thereof—and asking what I've been up to—where I've been.

Draco doesn't attend the next one, and I have to admit that I'm rather relieved. I notice Pansy and Blaise trying to catch my eye from their end of the table, though I'm determined to ignore them. Instead, I make an effort to get to know Theo a little better. Although he's well and truly a part of our friendship circle, he normally stays close by Neville's side. He's shown up alone this time, however—Neville is doing a stint in Brazil for work—and looks somewhat out of his element.

I sidle up to him and he greets me with a grateful smile. "Hello, Harry. Haven't seen you for a bit."

"Yeah... I've been avoiding crowds, I s'pose."

Theo nods but doesn't pry, which I appreciate.

“I read that letter, eventually,” I tell him as I sip my lager.

Theo raises his eyebrows. “The one from Draco? How long did you put it off?”

“Two months,” I admit with a sheepish grin.

“Was it worth the wait, then?”

I shrug and take another sip. “Not sure, really. I saw him the other day.”

"He said you'd met him for coffee."

I frown. “Did he tell you about it?"

“That, and other things. We chatted for a few hours.”

I want to ask for details but I know that Theo isn't one to gossip, especially not about one of his closest friends. Instead, I smile wryly and say, “That doesn’t sound like Draco.”

“He’s trying to get better at opening up to people, I think.”

“Hmm.” I can't help feeling a surge of resentment at that.

“I know he hurt you, and I can’t excuse his behaviour,” Theo continues, toying with his straw, “but the two of us grew up in similar families, so I can understand it, in a way. Lucius, he was really…”

“A shit father?” I supply.

Theo laughs hollowly. “Yeah. You could definitely say that.”

“I just..." I sigh. "I don’t know what was _real_, Theo. I don’t know which parts of Draco were truly him, and which parts were just pretend.”

Theo regards me sadly. “I don’t think Draco really knows, either.”

Draco and I are both invited to Neville's welcome back party, along with a mishmash of friends from Hogwarts and St Mungo's, where Theo works.

For once, I try to make an effort with my hair. I shave off my scraggly beard and I'm more selective with my clothing than I have ever been before. I know why I'm doing it, of course; I know it's because of Draco. I feel like I'm supposed to be over him by this point, but I'm not.

In fact, I'm so _not _over Draco that I make specific arrangements for him to be there.

"Why are you asking me to _make_ him come?" Neville had been utterly baffled by my request. "If he doesn't want to, isn't that his choice?"

"Please, Nev," I'd nagged. "I'm asking you because I know Theo won't."

"But... why?"

"I'm just—I'm worried about him." It wasn't exactly a lie.

Neville had eyed me doubtfully, and in that moment of scrutiny I was certain that he knew _everything_.

"I'll see what I can do."

Thank Merlin.

When I arrive I find that almost everyone is outside in the garden; it's a warm evening and it seems a waste to stay indoors. There is one notable exception: Draco, it seems, is of a different opinion. I find him standing alone in the corner of Neville and Theo's living room, trying to appear preoccupied as he examines the contents of a bookshelf.

I stand in the doorway and watch him for a few moments. I don't have a specific plan—I just wanted to see him again, and Neville's party was the perfect excuse. My feelings for him may not have disappeared—despite everything, I find myself regarding him with a kind of sappy fondness that I should be more embarrassed by than I am—but that doesn't mean I can't recognise that pursuing him is a foolish idea.

“Hi,” I murmur.

Draco spins around quickly, almost spilling his drink in the process. I am faintly amused by this uncharacteristic demonstration of gracelessness.

“Harry.”

_Harry_. My first name still sounds unusual upon his lips, but my heart leaps at his enunciation.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it,” I say as I move further into the room.

“Oh—Theo and Neville made me come,” he answers lightly. “Apparently I have been hiding away in my flat for far too long.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” I reply, delighting in the way this statement causes his cheeks to flush pink.

“Of course you are,” Draco drawls—though surely he's aware that he's blushing. “You’ve probably been rather bored, I dare say.”

He’s not wrong, of course. I’ve been at a loss without him.

Draco takes my silence the wrong way—it's apparent from the way he deflates that he believes he's offended me. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

“I know that you weren't,” I answer, quick to reassure him. "It's... it's true, actually."

"Were you forced into attending too, then? Bloody meddlers."

I smile. "Nah. I wanted to come—wanted to see you, actually."

Draco looks stunned, as if the concept had never occurred to him. "You did?"

I nod. “I’d like it if we were on good terms again, you know?"

"I'm not sure if we've ever been on good terms," Draco points out.

I roll my eyes. "You _know_ what I-”

“-I’d like that."

"Oh. Yeah. Excellent."

“Excellent.” Draco echoes, extending his hand. He smirks self-deprecatingly and I try not to laugh at his ridiculousness as I shake it.

“So, er... do you want a refill?” I ask, glancing down at his now empty glass.

Draco presses it into my hand with a smile. “Lemonade. Please.”

Rather than grabbing another beer, I end up getting a glass of lemonade for myself as well. Draco and I manoeuvre a set of armchairs into the corner of the living room and sequester ourselves there for the next few hours, content with our own company. We keep the conversation reasonably light—we avoid all talk of our previous liaisons—and I find it's nice to actually talk to Draco properly, though it takes us both a while to be at ease with each other.

At times I spot different groups of our friends hovering in our vicinity, though none of them actually approach. It’s not hard to notice the way they keep eyeing us and murmuring amongst themselves, however. I can’t be bothered to acknowledge them, and neither can Draco, it seems.

“Must be a pretty dull party if we’re the main entertainment,” he quips.

“Are they staring at us because we’re talking, or because we’re talking _again_?” I wonder.

“Probably a mix,” Draco replies carelessly. “Shall we go outside?”

Outside? I doubt he means anything by it, but his words still send a pleasant shiver down my spine. “Sure.”

We continue out to the garden which is illuminated by strings of twinkling lights. We stroll past the small groups of people and towards the perimeter of the property, where Neville's fruit trees grow. Neither of us comment on the fact that it’s darker and more private in these parts.

Draco sets his glass of lemonade upon a stump before stepping closer to me.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” he whispers.

"Me neither."

He reaches for me, fingers pressing against my hips, but makes no attempt to do anything more. My hands slide up his arms and link together behind his neck.

“What do you want, Harry?” Our faces are so close that I can feel his breath upon my face.

I can feel my cock thickening. I want to push myself against his thigh, to suck his tongue into my mouth.

I do neither of those things, and am grateful that I am completely sober. “I’m not sure."

His eyes fix briefly upon my lips. He licks his own. “Do you… do you truly want to be friends?”

I huff out a laugh and shake my head. “No, not really.”

“Boyfriends?” he asks, dragging out the second syllable.

“_Draco._”

“I’m serious.”

“Seriously horny,” I accuse, edging away.

Draco shakes his head resolutely. “I don’t think that we’re—that I’m—ready for that, no matter how much I want to. But, if you wanted to try to be together—_properly_, this time—”

“Properly?” I ask warily.

“Officially,” he elaborates. “Public appearances, dating, hand holding.”

I wrinkle my nose, finding this hard to believe. "You really want that?"

He stares up at the starlit sky, raking one hand through his hair. “I do. It took me too long to realise it, but I do. I’m just worried that I’ll fuck up again.”

“We both fucked up,” I remind him.

Draco shrugs.

"Do you love me, Draco?"

As he looks back at me, I can see the fear shining in his eyes. He is afraid of being hurt. He is afraid of hurting me.

He licks his lips again, nods.

"Me too," I tell him, stepping closer to him once more. "Me too."

“We could go slow,” he suggests, tentative and uncertain.

“We could go slow,” I agree, draping my arms around his neck once more.

Our lips meet and it’s a chaste kiss, as far as kisses go. Draco's mouth tastes of promises and lemonade.

It feels more like a beginning than a sequel.

We are both in firm agreement that we will not rush things. We are both determined to communicate better and make things work between us. Most of the time, we stick to these promises.

It isn't always easy.

Draco still finds it a challenge to open up to me. He learnt to hide away his emotions—his vulnerabilities—years ago, and it's difficult for him to overcome these habits. I try to be as understanding as I can, but at times I can't help being infuriated by his closed-off tendencies. It's rather rich of me to react in such a way, of course; it's not as if I was encouraged to be introspective or communicative in my own upbringing.

It takes time, but I learn many things about Draco. Some of these things are good. Some are hard to hear.

One night he reveals to me just how problematic his drinking truly was, back in our days of casual fucking. I am horrified and crushed when I learn that he _always_ drank before visiting me. It turns out that 'sober Draco' had never really been sober at all, just a less intoxicated variant.

I keep hold of his hand when he confesses this, and both of us are in tears by the end.

I start seeing a mind healer again, too; I have things I need to work on as well. I attend sessions regularly this time around, prioritising them in a way that I didn't the last time around, during those months just after the war. In the process, I learn many things about myself.

We are physical in a way that we weren't the first time. We are intimate. I find out that Draco actually enjoys cuddling—and in fact, this is a discovery for Draco as well.

It takes almost three months of dating before Draco and I have penetrative sex for the first time—as a couple, anyway.

This time it is me who’s on his knees before the couch—and it's Draco's plush, fancy couch. We spend more time at his place than mine these days; I think we both believe it'll help to build new memories in different surroundings. 

We're both naked, Draco's fingers threaded through my hair as I take his cock deep into my throat. Suddenly, he interrupts my ministrations, reaching down to squeeze my shoulder. "Harry, I want you to fuck me."

I pull my mouth away slowly, leaning back on my haunches to regard him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I wipe the wetness—a mixture of saliva and pre-come—from my mouth and rise, hands tracing reverent patterns over Draco's thighs as I lean forward to steal a kiss. "Here?"

"Bed," he breathes as he pulls away, enthralling me with lust-darkened eyes.

We make our way to his room in rapturous delight, grinding and stroking and giggling and moaning. We fall into his bed in a tangle of limbs. He is beautifully responsive as he arches and begs for my touch, and I tell him as much, curling and thrusting my fingers just so. It embarrasses yet pleases him when I say these things, and I say them a lot these days.

"Come _on_, Harry, I'm—I'm—ready," he gasps out in the midst of me teasing his prostate.

I withdraw my fingers with a mixture of anticipation and reluctance, summoning the lubricant so I can coat my swollen cock. "How d'you want to-" but I'm pushed onto my back before I can finish my question. "Oh!"

Draco rises above me, his skin painted in moonlight. His eyes are fixed on mine as he takes me in, sinking down inch by glorious inch until my balls are nudged up against his backside.

"You're so-so tight, Draco," I pant out, my hips thrusting up reflexively.

I let Draco set the pace. He movements are steady, hands splayed on my chest as he fucks himself on my cock. I can't resist touching him; my hands skirt up his sides to pluck at his nipples and skim over his chest, seeking and searching out every expanse I can reach. It's all so familiar because it's Draco, but it's also so different because it's _Draco_. He grabs hold of my hands with his own, interlinking our fingers.

"Fuck, it's—_H-Harry_, _fuck_—yes! Right there!" Draco garbles, eyes rolling backwards with pleasure.

"Touch yourself," I urge him, "_please_."

He pulls one hand away from mine and brings it to his flushed, neglected cock. He leers knowingly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Want—this?"

"_Yes_," I hiss back, moaning at the sight as he begins wanking himself in his fist. "You're so hot when you—you-"

His grin slips away abruptly, his mouth falling open in ecstasy. I'm so transfixed I forget that I'm in the midst of a sentence; I forget how to use words. 

It's all too soon when Draco jerks forward with a shuddering cry, his cock pulsing his release onto my chest. The sensation of him clenching around me brings me to orgasm as well, Draco's name on my lips as I come inside him.

We catch our breath, Draco's forehead pressed against mine. He lets out a satisfied sigh, raising himself enough so my dick can slip out before collapsing onto my chest. He doesn't seem to mind that his cheek is pressed against my semen-sticky skin.

"Was it worth the wait?" I ask teasingly as I rub my hands across his back.

"You're an idiot, Potter," he informs me, though his words are spoken without malice.

I hum my assent, my lips stretching into a broad smile.

After a few minutes, Draco slides off me."Shower with me?" he murmurs, catching my hand in his and tugging gently.

"Alright," I answer, and trundle after him to the bathroom.

As we take turns cleaning each other under the blissfully hot water, I decide that showering after sex isn't so bad.

Draco finishes washing my back and turns me around to face him, fixing me with a tired but satiated smile. “I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “Harry, I love you.”

"I love you, too."

I fall asleep with Draco pressed close behind me, one arm draped over my waist and one leg hooked around mine.

In the morning, we have breakfast together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. find me on Tumblr! I'm a nice human.


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